Help I'm Alive
by New Konoiche
Summary: According to Via's high school guidance counselor, sophomore year is "very important" for future college aspirations; a year where you must find a way to stand out, or get left behind. Miranda worries about becoming like her mother and wants nothing to do with her new step-family, especially since the Pullmans house no longer feels like home. T for themes of mental illness/ drugs
1. The Mrs Rockwell Chapter

Chapter One: The Mrs. Rockwell Chapter:

Via wasn't nervous about starting 10th grade until the middle of first period – at least, not the kind of nervous she had been on the first day of freshman year, skin shiny with sweat and stomach writhing with snakes (butterflies, she decided at the time, sounded much too friendly to describe the feeling.) Sure, she had felt a familiar increase of her pulse when she entered her World History classroom where she didn't know anyone, but her nervousness quickly subsided when she realized no one else was talking either – some glassy-eyed and yawning, others looking slightly uncomfortable in their clean back-to-school clothes, a few busily looking over their schedules or scribbling into their notebooks, but only a few, like Via herself, seemed shy about being thrown into a classroom with complete strangers (or, at least, relative strangers) first thing in the morning.

Miranda, Via's BFF since Kindergarten, probably would have hated it. She had always had an issue with awkward silences, but Via much preferred this slight discomfort to coming into a classroom where everyone was already paired off, chatting noisily about their summer vacations, while she counted down the agonizingly slow minutes until the start of class – which, Via recalled, was exactly how freshman year first period had started.

"Sophomore year is very important," their World History teacher, Ms. Salisbury, who looked like a stereotypical grandmother with curly hair and round glasses and who talked in one of those soothing voices that made Via a bit sleepy, said after reading through five pages of the syllabus. "Colleges really pay attention to how well you do this year, so please, make sure you keep on top of everything."

"Holy buckets," murmured a girl next to Via, who Via had seen around the school, but had never spoken to. The rest of the class giggled nervously and exchanged awkward smiles.

"Don't worry about it too much," said Ms. Salisbury, smiling. "Just something to keep in mind. This class should be easy as long as you focus, do all the reading and hand everything in on time."

Via wasn't worried. She had never had any problem completing her work – even when Auggie was having surgery and she had to fill out worksheets in the hospital waiting room.

But then, a girl with short-cropped hair, neon green bangs and a gray hoodie stomped into the room holding a note out to Ms. Salisbury. "Mrs. Rockwell wants to see, um," she looked down at the note and narrowed her eyes, "Olivia Pullman in her office."

Via's heart leaped into her throat and pounded against her temples.

"Okay," said Ms. Salisbury. "Olivia Pullman?"

"It's Via," said Via in a small voice, her cheeks turning hot.

"You may take your things with you if you like," Ms. Salisbury said. "Thank you, Skye," she said to the green-haired girl.

"Coolio," said Skye and gave the teacher a thumbs-up. She nodded and strode out of the room.

Via scooped up her backpack and nearly dropped it, her hands were shaking so much. Whenever she got called down to the office in middle school and elementary school, it had been about Auggie – that he was in the hospital again for emergency surgery or that she needed to stay over at Miranda and Lisa's house for the week because her parents needed to fly out to a specialized clinic. And even though she had gotten called into the office for this type of news more times than she could count, she always felt her stomach drop like on her least favorite Coney Island ride when the counselor gently told her that something had happened with Auggie.

As a sixth grader, Auggie hardly got sick anymore and his last major surgery had been over a year ago, but Via still worried in the back of her mind as she hurried down the hall that something else had happened – perhaps he had gotten in another physical fight with an older boy or had been hit by a bus on the way to school.

Skye had somehow beaten Via to the counseling office and was reading an _American Girl_ magazine and loudly chewing smelly bubblegum behind the desk when Via entered, which, in the back of her mind, Via couldn't help thinking was babyish. She and Miranda had loved American Girls when they were little, but stopped reading the magazine before they turned ten.

"Um, hi," Via said breathlessly, her throat dry as sandpaper.

Skye looked up from the magazine and stared at her. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, I'm Via Pullman? You just told me to come down here."

"Oh," said Skye. "Let me get Mrs. Rockwell." Via awkwardly followed Skye a closed door and watched as Skye pounded her fist against it. "Hey, Mrs. Rockwell. Olivia Pullman is here to see you."

"I'm actually with someone else right now, Skye," the guidance counselor said. "Remember, we talked about not interrupting me in the middle of meetings?"

Via was sure that if someone had admonished her this way, she would have been horrified, but Skye just shrugged. "Oh, oh yeah," she said. She looked at Via with an oddly blank expression. "I guess she's with someone else," she narrated, as if Via hadn't been standing right there when Mrs. Rockwell said that. "If you want, we can go back into the waiting room."

"O-okay," Via said. Perhaps, she thought to herself, this wasn't such an urgent meeting after all. If something was really, really wrong with Auggie, wouldn't the counselor (or hell, even the principal?) drop everything to tell her? Then, a horrible thought occurred to her. Maybe it wasn't urgent because the counselor was going to tell her that Auggie was already dead. And if that was the case, there was absolutely nothing Via or anyone else could do. In fact, maybe it wasn't even Auggie who was dead. Maybe it was one of her parents. Or maybe even _both_ of her parents, meaning that she and Auggie would either be placed in foster care or she, as a sixteen-year-old would unofficially become Auggie's guardian at which point getting good grades and doing well enough to get into college wouldn't matter. Or maybe her mother, her father _and_ Auggie were dead – killed in a freak hit-and-run accident on the way to school this morning. Via felt her lungs tighten and nausea crawl up the back of her throat.

"You can sit down if you want," said Skye.

"N-no thanks," Via stammered, realizing that she had been pacing. "I'm okay standing up."

Skye shrugged again and returned to her magazine. "Hey, wait a sec," Skye flopped her magazine down on the counter and narrowed her eyes at Via. "Pullman, right?"

"Y-yeah," said Via, wondering for a brief second if Skye recognized her last name from the news this morning about how her whole family was tragically killed. "Why?"

"Just sounds familiar, is all," said Skye. "Oh, wait! Isn't your brother that deformed kid?"

"He's not deformed," Via snapped, jumping into protective big sister mode without even realizing it. "He has a _facial deformity_."

"Yeah, yeah, facial deformity, whatever," said Skye. "He is your brother, then?"

"How do you even know about him?" Via asked.

"I don't know," said Skye. "I've just heard about him, I guess. Can't even remember from where."

"Are you reading my files or something? That's private information!" It of course, was not private information and Via had no idea why she said that, nor why she felt so hysterical or why she accused Skye of reading her files.

"Olivia Pullman?" Mrs. Rockwell, a pretty African-American woman with her hair pulled back in a bun, stuck her head out of her office.

"It's Via," said Skye before blowing a huge bubble.

"Via, okay, why don't you come in and have a seat?" said Mrs. Rockwell.

The office, Via noted, looked pretty similar to that of the counselors at both her elementary and middle schools. There was a stuffed Boo sitting on the desk, smiling up at the ceiling and several posters of cats that read "Hang in there" and "I can do hard things."

"Hello, Via," said Mrs. Rockwell, sitting behind Boo. "I just want to start off by saying, you're not in any trouble."

 _In any trouble_? Via thought. Of course, she wasn't in any trouble! The thought had never occurred to her as she had never been in trouble in all of her years at school, except for the one time she and Miranda got lectured for missing the bell in 2nd grade. "No," she said. "I mean, I didn't think I was."

"Okay, good," said Mrs. Rockwell. "So, this is just a routine visit. I want to get to know all of the Sophomores at the beginning of the year, because, as I'm sure you have heard, Sophomore year is extremely important, and I want to make sure no one falls through the cracks. I'm the Counselor for all Sophomores whose last names start with P-R, so you're one of the first on my list."

Via's muscles untightened and for the first time all morning, she was able to breathe normally. She almost smiled. This was all it was about?

"So," said Mrs. Rockwell, "lets take a look at your file. Hm," she continued after a minute. "Very good. Did you know you're top 15 in your class? Very impressive."

Via flushed with pleasure. She didn't know her actual place, but her grades had always been something she took pride in.

"Yep, looks like all A's and one B+ last year. Your teachers all say that you're pretty quiet in class, but that's okay. Oh," she added. "And you were in drama last year. Okay, yeah! I remember seeing you in _Our Town._ You were very good."

Via's face heated up even more. "Thank you," she said. "I was just the understudy."

Mrs. Rockwell pursed her lips. "That doesn't matter," she said. "It's still something that would look really good on a college app. Anyway," she added, "are you trying out for the Spring play this year? They're doing _The Tempest_."

"No, I don't think so," said Via, because in truth, although she had enjoyed play practice and would appreciate drama club forever for introducing her to Justin, she was looking forward to taking a break from the grueling after-school rehearsals. Besides, drama had always been more of Miranda's thing anyway.

"Hmm," said Mrs. Rockwell and Via could see this had not been the answer she wanted. "Personally, I think you should. I also noticed that you only have one AP this year."

"AP Psych," said Via. She was starting to really dislike the way this conversation was going. Moreover, she was starting to really dislike Mrs. Rockwell.

"I'm just going to be honest with you, Via," the counselor said, clicking her tongue. "I don't believe in lying to kids to make them feel better. That just isn't how I roll. Your grades and test scores are definitely good enough for Ivy League schools, but you need something that makes you stand out from every other applicant. As it is, there's really nothing special about your file. And if there isn't anything unique or special about your file, I think you might even struggle to get into state schools, especially considering how many qualified applicants there are these days."

Via felt heat prickle her scalp and spread down her forehead and into her cheeks. Embarrassingly, she also felt tears well in her throat.

"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Rockwell and Via realized she probably looked like she just gotten slapped. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that it would be a shame to waste your potential. I want every Sophomore to really start focusing on their goals and on what makes them unique. What do you have that no other incoming college freshman can claim?"

But what did make Via unique? What did she have that no other incoming college freshman could claim? Even if she took all AP classes and was in the play and was the very top of her class, how would that make her any different than a billion other applicants? And even so, why should any of this matter when she wasn't an incoming Freshman, but a Sophomore in high school? She suddenly felt her nausea return with a vengeance. "Um, well," she said, realizing that it had not been a rhetorical question. "My brother was born with a facial deformity."

Mrs. Rockwell looked up from Via's file, surprise registering on her face. "That's extremely interesting," she said. "That must have been such a huge struggle for you growing up!"

Via, of course, could not deny that. She just shrugged because she suddenly wasn't sure if she was going to throw up or to cry or both.

"What an amazing thing for you to write about on your college essay," said Mrs. Rockwell, suddenly beaming like a Jack-o-Lantern. "And if you add a few more AP's and participate in a few more activities – especially in drama, I think you would have a really good chance of getting into one of the top schools."

"NO!" Via said, much louder than she meant to.

"No?" repeated Mrs. Rockwell, looking confused.

"I'm not going to write a college essay about my brother," said Via.

"Oh. Why not?"

"Because," Via said, her breathing speeding up and her heart racing. "Because it's a shit…I mean, it's a crappy thing to do!"

Mrs. Rockwell wrinkled her eye brows but said nothing. "Well," she piped up after a few seconds. "Then I guess I would focus on taking more AP classes this year and really working the drama aspect."

By the end of the meeting, Via had transferred out of World History, even though she had liked Ms. Salisbury and had switched to AP World History, even though she heard Mr. Thompson was a hard-ass and had also signed up for AP Bio, AP English and remained in AP Psych. "This is a good start," said Mrs. Rockwell, before Skye knocked on the door to let her know Diego Puloza was there to see her.


	2. The Clyde Chapter

Chapter Two: The Clyde Chapter:

Miranda was beyond disappointed to find the Clydesdale in the kitchen on Tuesday morning, loudly sipping his coffee through pursed lips as if he had a proboscis like some kind of gigantic bug. "Oh him," she almost said out loud, but instead settled for an inward sigh and an involuntary shudder. She was about to turn around and slink back to her room, but then reminded herself it was her goddamn house. Who was he to chase her away from her own kitchen?

"Good morning," Miranda said, grabbing the orange juice and slamming the refrigerator door, somewhat accidently, but mostly on purpose. "Um, where's my mom?" She almost added "what are you doing here?" but that would have been rude, and she wasn't especially interested in getting into a fight with her mom's boyfriend before school.

The Clydesdale took a huge gulp of his coffee and his Adam's Apple bobbed up and down like a yo-yo. "She's still sleeping. She's not feeling very well," he said.

"Oh," Miranda replied. "Not feeling well," she supposed, meant that her mother was in one of her funks. Her heart sank. Lisa had been doing fairly well since she started dating the Clydesdale – Miranda had to give him credit for that, at least. It wasn't like right after Miranda's dad left when Lisa slept for fifteen hours at a time and then woke up only to sit silently on the couch with tears streaming down her unmade face and her hair tied in a loose, matted, greasy ponytail. Miranda wasn't sure what had scared her more, the sleeping or the near-catatonic states. Lisa had never been happy. Even before Miranda's father, Martin left her for Alicia (who Miranda always thought seemed like a younger, more cheerful version of Lisa – even her name sounded similar), Lisa had always been contained, quiet, unenthusiastic about pretty much everything. But somehow, Clyde, with all the personality of dry wall, made her happy – probably as happy as Miranda had ever seen her. Even though Miranda didn't like Clyde, she was relieved that Lisa's episodes seemed to have tapered off.

Miranda poured the orange juice so that it almost splashed over the rim of the glass. Clyde sighed and slammed his mug against the counter. "Be careful," he snapped.

"I think I can handle it, Clyde, thanks," Miranda said, grabbing the glass.

Clyde sighed again. "Do you really think you need that much?"

Most of Clyde and Miranda's conversations since he started dating Lisa were about practically the same thing: food. She guessed orange juice was a drink, technically, but it still applied as far as she was concerned. In Clyde's expert opinion, she always took too much, which was terrible because there are starving kids in Africa, except when she couldn't choke down another dinner of peas, salt-free, overcooked mashed potatoes and barely defrosted frozen corn, which was also terrible because there are starving kids in Africa. She also, apparently, ate way too quickly while he, Lisa and Blake paused for nearly a whole goddamn minute between every single bite. She couldn't help it if she had a fast metabolism.

"You're right," Miranda said, spilling the orange juice into the sink and watching Clyde flinch. "I only need about half if I'm going to make a proper Mimosa. Where's the Champaign?"

Clyde made a strangled sound deep in his throat and Miranda couldn't help smiling a little. It was bitchy of her, she knew, but she couldn't resist annoying him. It was just too easy. Of course, she had no intention of making a Mimosa, proper or otherwise. The only time she had ever had one was at summer camp, after she and the other junior counselors had been up late playing drinking games and somehow, probably because she had always been a complete dork who never drank, only Miranda woke up with a piercing headache while all the other girls emerged from the cabin "alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic" as one of their camp songs dictated. The other girls had laughed, not unkindly, and exchanged knowing glances. "This should make you feel better," said Kaitlyn, an older girl, who, at the time, seemed like the epitome of cool, thrusting a wine glass of orange juice at Miranda. "Works every time!" Miranda had no idea why anyone would think the best cure for a hangover was more alcohol, but it certainly didn't work for her, unless the purpose was to make her headache so bad she eventually wound up in the infirmary.

"Look," said Clyde. "I really don't appreciate the attitude. I'm just trying to help."

"Help with what, exactly?" Miranda asked. "We have plenty of orange juice. And I don't think kids in Africa could care less."

"You still shouldn't waste food," said Clyde.

Miranda clenched her teeth and sighed. "So I've heard," she said. "Was my mom okay yesterday? Did she seem, like, sad?" She wasn't entirely sure Clyde would even respond. After all, they had never had a real conversation that didn't revolve around something she was doing wrong.

Clyde cleared his throat. "Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that." He motioned for her to sit down, but she leaned against the counter instead. "I really was hoping you could do more around the house to help Mom out. She really hasn't been feeling well."

Miranda instantly felt a wave of over-whelming guilt mixed with fear. Clyde was just seeing the beginning of Lisa's funks. What would he do when it started getting really, truly bad? Miranda didn't think Clyde, despite whatever faults he had, was the type to run away or give up easily, but she also couldn't imagine him sticking around when Lisa locked herself in her bedroom and didn't even emerge to use to toilet or when she left the water running in the kitchen sink all afternoon because she had forgotten she wanted to make a pot of coffee or especially when she told him her misery was entirely, 100% his fault. He wasn't related to her. He could leave whenever he wanted.

"For how long?" Miranda asked.

Clyde shrugged his broad shoulders. "A couple of days. She and I are going out to the hot springs for an overnight, so hopefully that will help. But I know Mom would appreciate it if you stepped up a bit."

 _Mom_. That was the second time he called her that. It made Miranda's skin crawl and set her teeth on edge. Actually, it also kind of made her want to throw up. "Gross," she mumbled.

"What's gross?"

"I don't know. How you keep referring to her as "Mom." She's not _your_ mom. That would just be ish." But what really grossed her out wasn't the thought of incest but that him referring to Lisa as "Mom" with a capital "M" was something her father might do – as if Clyde was already part of the family.

Suddenly, the were interrupted as Lisa trudged into the kitchen, the belt of her bathrobe dragging behind her. When Miranda looked at her up close, she noticed the dark, grey circles surrounding her eyes, as if she had slept fifteen minutes instead of fifteen hours.

"Hey, Mom," Miranda said carefully. "Are you okay?"

Lisa looked at her and blinked slowly, as if that was the strangest question she had ever heard. "Sure, Sweet Pea," she said after a beat, even though she had never once referred to Miranda as "Sweet Pea" before. "Why do you ask?"

Miranda wasn't sure how to answer that question, so she glanced over at Clyde, who gave a tiny shake of his head. "No reason," Miranda mumbled. "You just look tired."

In the past, at least on two separate occasions, Lisa got very angry at Miranda for insinuating that she looked tired, which in her mind, was another way of saying she looked awful. But now, she just sighed, poured a cup of coffee and stared down at the steam swirling in tendrils toward the ceiling. "I guess work's been tough lately," she said slowly. Miranda couldn't tell if it was the normal sort of slow, apathetic or the terrifying, slurry sort of slow that came before near catatonia. "Clyde and I are going away to the hot springs tonight. You and Blake can have some bonding time." It wasn't a question. Much like when she first told Miranda that she and Clyde planned on getting married, she was simply stating a fact. Miranda's permission wasn't even remotely required. She could, Lisa had said blandly, come to the wedding if she wanted. In retrospect, Miranda would find this funny. In fact, she had laughed about it when she explained the conversation to Via, but Via had wrinkled her nose and said: "that's not funny. That's actually really sad" and Miranda had almost started crying.

"Ugh," Miranda said, this time out loud. "Goody. I literally can't wait." Blake, Clyde's 21-year-old son was pretty much a carbon copy of his father right down to the bossiness and the methodical way he chewed. She often felt like the three of them – Blake, Lisa and Clyde – were like a trio of skittish cats and she was a huge, klutzy dog that they had no idea what to do with.

"You should get to school," Lisa said.


	3. The Skye Chapter

Chapter Three: The Skye Chapter:

Via wasn't exactly thrilled about walking into the drama classroom after school. It had only been a day with her new schedule, and she was already so hopelessly behind she wanted to cry. When she had gotten to AP English, breathless from running down the hall because she hadn't been able to find the G-Wing and had to ask three separate people for directions before finally realizing it was upstairs, her classmates were already somehow in the middle of discussing _Brave New World_ , which they were nearly half-way through.

It was almost like that bad dream Via (and every single other person on the planet) had where you go to take a final in a class you haven't attended once. After class, the teacher had explained with an annoyed sigh that the class actually had a summer reading list (which in addition to _Brave New World_ included _The Canterbury Tales_ and _Grapes of Wrath_ ) and that Via would have to at least read through _Brave New World_ and fill out the packet if she wanted to get caught up. "I hate it when Mrs. Rockwell does this," he muttered after Via had explained the circumstances. Via wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself, so she kept her mouth shut and stared down at the carpet. Meanwhile, Mr. Thompson from AP History was just as much of a hard-ass as Via had heard.

Yesterday, after her meeting with Mrs. Rockwell, Via had wanted to cry to her parents and have them make it all okay, like how they used to when she was little and got stung by a bee or had a stomach ache, but just like the year before, Auggie's bad first day of school trumped her own. Auggie and Via had both been lost-in-thought over dinner, but of course, Nate and Isabel only noticed Auggie's brooding. "Was someone mean to you at school?" Isabel asked, righteous anger already seeping into her voice.

"Yes," mumbled Auggie, picking at his corn on the cob.

Isabel turned to look at Nate. "I can't believe this is still happening," she snapped. "After everything we talked about with Mr. Tushman last year?"

"Who is this punk?" Nate asked. "What's his name?"

" _His_ name is Miss Sand," said Auggie.

As it turned out, newbie English teacher Miss Sand hadn't done her homework about Auggie's cranio-facial defect and had told him to take his mask off. In the back of her mind, Via was angry with Miss Sand – she may not have meant anything by it, but Auggie was so sensitive and after his often disastrous 5th grade year, he was only starting to develop confidence. This was only in the back of her mind, of course, because she was too preoccupied thinking about how Mrs. Rockwell had accused her of being nothing special and even more preoccupied worrying about starting a whole set of new classes. She realized she could have probably accused Mrs. Rockwell of being a bully, too, but announcing "I was bullied by a teacher today, too" would have seemed bitter and besides, she no longer wanted to get into it – especially not with Auggie present.

"May I be excused?" she said instead. "I have a lot of homework to work on."

"On the first day?" asked Nate.

"Yeah," Via said sharply. "It's high school, remember?"

Instead of doing homework, or even looking at her syllabi, Via flopped down on her bed and stared at her rose-patterned wallpaper which was just the right amount of generic for someone who was "nothing special."

"Via! Over here!" Miranda shouted. She was surrounded by Justin and several of their theater friends as they talked about how it was just so bizarre that people eat cake and ice cream at birthday parties when cake and ice cream shouldn't even be a unit. Or not weird, but "wytai," which had been Miranda's favorite word all summer since she found a website with words to describe previously unnamed feelings. "Wytai," evidently, meant "when you think about it" as in, "when you really think about it, it's weird as hell that people keep non-human animals in their houses or go to the same specific place for eight hours every day just to earn random pieces of paper which they trade for food and clothes and other goods or eat cake and ice cream at birthday parties (or, for that matter, to celebrate their births at all)."

Via wandered over to the group, relief battling a sense of disappointment. Since they met in kindergarten, Miranda had always been the de-facto leader of their group, a clique which they dubbed "the moderates" in middle school, because they were neither super-popular, nor social rejects. This was clear even in their pretending games, where Miranda was always the hero and Via her second-in-command (whether that be Sailor Moon and her sidekick, Luna the cat, Mom and her sidekick, Dad or, most frequently, Queen Elsa and her sidekick, Princess Anna – which kind of made Via wonder if Miranda had ever actually watched _Frozen_.) Via was also embarrassed as hell thinking about all the times when she let Miranda do the talking for her – even asking their teachers in elementary school if Via could use the bathroom. Granted, that only happened one time – twice at the most – but still. Miranda meant well, of course, but how could Via possibly prove her uniqueness to colleges when she was always in her BFF's shadow?

"Dude, I thought you weren't going out for the play this year," Miranda said, sounding slightly accusing. Likely, she wanted the lead part herself, which Via guessed was reasonable as the female lead in _The Tempest_ was also named Miranda. Via couldn't help feeling a little stung, anyway, though. It's not like drama club was just Miranda's thing and nobody else's.

Before Via could say anything, Mr. Davenport clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone," he shouted. "Let's warm up with a round of the What-Are-You-Doing Game."

Miranda smiled at Via and Justin. "The What-Are-You-Doing Game is so wytai," she said.

Via had never liked the What-Are-You-Doing Game because it was embarrassing and also because everyone tried to compete with each other to be the Funniest Person in the Room. When Via asked the kid next to her, a freshman boy with a loud voice and a louder pink shirt, he, of course, said "I'm picking my nose," which Via supposed made sense, as the three boys before him had come up with "I'm throwing up," "I'm belching the alphabet" and "I'm drinking from the toilet." Then, when Miranda had asked Via what she was doing, she panicked and couldn't think of anything but the completely boring "I'm skiing." Meanwhile, Miranda's response to Justin was "I'm putting in a tampon," which Via was surprised Mr. Davenport let slide, but then, Mr. Davenport liked Miranda.

The class howled with laughter and Miranda smiled sheepishly. Via was almost certain that Justin, who awkwardly worked through the motions of a thing he obviously would never, ever do, would come up with something just as lame as she had. He'd never been much good at improv. But, to her surprise, he came up with the fairly creative and ridiculous "I'm playing the piano with my feet."

While the girl next to Justin tried to demonstrate it, the door swung open and in came Skye from Mrs. Rockwell's office. _Great_ , Via thought bitterly. _Just fucking great_. "Hey! Sorry I'm late!" Skye said loudly. "What are we doing?"

Whether or not it was intentional, the whole class burst out laughing.

Mr. Davenport smiled. "Exactly. We're wrapping up What are You Doing? Anyway, let's go ahead and move on." Via couldn't help being relieved that he hadn't asked Skye to participate in "What Are You Doing." "We have a couple of new people this year," Davenport continued, "so why don't we break into groups of two and play Tow Truths and a Lie. Please find someone who you haven't talked to before."

Before Via could even look around at the new freshman, Skye tapped her on the arm. "Partners?" she asked.

Via sighed. "Sure, I guess."

They sat down across from each other, Skye kicking off her shoes and sitting Indian Style.

"Okay, so do you want to go first or should-" Via started to say.

"So, sorry about yesterday," Skye blurted, cutting her off midsentence. "You know, about your brother and stuff?"

Via narrowed her eyes. Truthfully, she had almost forgotten that Skye somehow knew about Auggie in the midst of her new classes and Mrs. Rockwell's condescending disappointment. "Yeah, how _do_ you know about him?" she asked.

Skye shrugged. "I have my ways," she said.

"No, really! Did you and Mrs. Rockwell talk about me?" Via realized this wouldn't make any sense, as Mrs. Rockwell hadn't known about Auggie at all. "Or did you talk to Miranda or Justin?"

"Who are they?"

Via sighed in exasperation. "I'm sorry, this is just really confusing. I don't know how you could possibly know that. Did one of my teachers mention it? I literally don't think I mentioned it to any of them."

"Don't apologize," said Skye lightly. "There's nothing wrong with being confused. I'm not even sure how I know. I just hear things, I guess."

Via's face lit up and her heart started to pound. "What kinds of things?"

"Jesus, relax," said Skye. "Nothing bad. Anyway, we should probably do this activity thing. So, my three things are: 1) I'm from a town called Dead Beaver, CT; 2) I take Ritalin for my ADHD; and 3) Garnet is my favorite character from _Steven Universe_."

"Dead Beaver?" Via repeated and she couldn't help smirking. "That can't possibly be true. No one would name a town that."

Skye shook her head. "Nope, that one's true. It sucked and I hated it and let's never speak of it again."

Via wasn't sure when she and Skye would ever speak of it again, given that they weren't friends and that Skye kind of unnerved her. "Okay," she said, "is it the one about _Steven Universe_? Do you have a different favorite or something?" Because, of course, Skye would be the type to like _Steven Universe_.

"Nope, she is my favorite," said Skye. "The second one's a lie. I take Adderall, not Ritalin. Okay, your turn."

Via's stomach churned. She realized too late that she should have come up with ideas in the back of her mind while Skye was talking because now her mind was totally blank. "Um…okay, let's see. 1) My brother Auggie, who you know about somehow, is in 6th grade at Beecher Prep; 2) my best friend is Miranda, who is also in this club and 3) I have a dog named Daisy."

Skye wrinkled her nose and stared at Via for several alarming seconds. "Seriously?" she finally said.

Via's face flushed, if possible, even hotter. "Um, yeah? They're not very interesting compared to yours. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," said Skye for the second time in so many minutes. "But I mean, none of those were about you."

"They were all about me," said Via.

Skye suddenly burst out laughing – not a small giggle or a smirk but a huge head-thrown-back guffaw. "Are you kidding? The first one was about your brother, the second one was about Miranda and the third was about your dog. I didn't learn anything about Via Pullman."

"What do you mean?" Via asked.

"I mean, mine were all about me: I'M from Dead Beaver, I take Adderall, MY favorite character is Garnet."

"Um," said Via in a small voice, "mine were too? MY brother is in 6th grade, MY best friend is in this club, MY dog is named Daisy."

Skye's smile slipped off her face and was replaced by the same blank look she had worn in the counseling office. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"OKAY!" Mr. Davenport's voice boomed. "Let's all come back together."

As they returned to the circle, Skye nudged Via. "WHAT?" she snapped.

"Which one was the lie?" asked Skye.

"Oh," Via mumbled. "The last one. Our dog died last year."

Via paid roughly zero attention as the group went around the circle going over what they had learned about their partners. Skye was right. Mrs. Rockwell was even more right. The only thing that had ever been special about Via was that she was Auggie's sister. Other than that, she might as well not exist at all.

"Via?" Mr. Davenport's voice cut through her cloud of negativity. "What did you learn about your partner?"

"Oh," Via stammered, "right. This is Skye. She moved here from Dead Beaver, CT and she likes _Steven Universe_ , especially Garnet and she takes Adderall for her ADHD symptoms." A second too late, she realized Davenport had only asked for one detail, but she guessed it didn't matter as he let it go.

"Nice," he said. "Welcome, Skye. We're glad to have you. What did you learn about Via?"

Skye looked over at Via for a second, then faced forward. "Absolutely nothing," she said.

Via felt her breath catch in her chest. Her stomach cartwheeled; her hands shook. This had to be a bad dream, right? She stared determinedly at the floor but could still feel burning pairs of eyes staring at her.

"Oh?" said Mr. Davenport. "Did you not get to her?"

"Oh, no," said Skye. "We did. I actually learned that Via's brother is in 6th grade and that Miranda is her best friend and that the Pullmans used to have a dog named Daisy (RIP), but I didn't actually learn anything about Via herself."

Mr. Davenport raised an eyebrow.

"Why would you tell everyone that?" Via asked, her voice cold but barely audible, as she was still staring down.

"He asked what I learned about you," Skye answered as if that explained everything.

"That's really harsh," Miranda said from across the room.

"Oh my God, Miranda! I can stand up for myself!" Via snapped. Miranda flinched and glanced over at Justin for support, but he, as usual, was gazing down, trying his best to avoid confrontation.

"Saw-ree," said Miranda. "I won't ever do it again."

Mr. Davenport cleared his throat. "Okay," he said, "let's go ahead and move on, shall we?"

Naturally, Via had a great deal of trouble concentrating through the rest of the meeting, especially with how Miranda kept trying to catch her eye and how Skye kept gazing at her with a creepy, unblinking stare. It was all Via could do to keep from rushing out the door, college applications and Mrs. Rockwell be damned. When Mr. Davenport finally excused them for the day, Justin lightly nudged her on the elbow. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine," said Via, "why wouldn't I be?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Justin. "That Skye girl was way out of line. I'd ask if you wanted me to beat her up, but that's really not my style. I could give her a stern talking to, if you want me to, though."

"NO!" snapped Via and Justin's face fell. "Oh my God, I'm sorry!" she said, stringing the words together so it came out like "ohmygodi'msorry. "I just…it's my time of month, I guess?"

"That's a question?" Justin said, raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You said 'I guess' like it was a question," said Justin.

Via thought for sure if she said another word, she would start crying – probably hysterically – so she clamped her teeth together and shook her head. "I have a ton of homework," she told the floor. "I should probably get going."

She hurried out the door with her head down, back pack strap thrown haphazardly over one shoulder.

"VIA!"

Skye dashed in front of her and grabbed her by the shoulders, which would have been rude even if she hadn't already been plenty rude earlier.

"Look," said Skye, "I just wanted to apologize, okay?"

"You're not forgiven." Via tried to push past her, but Skye was solid like a brick wall or like an ox.

"Look, I was just trying to help you, that's all."  
"You don't even know me," Via spat. Which, she realized after it left her mouth, was entirely what the argument was about.

"No," said Skye. "I don't. But I know that I like you."

This was complete news to Via. "You do?"

"Yeah," said Skye. "You seem like you really have it going on."

"You think I have it going on? How so? Doesn't seem like you think that at all."

"I'm sorry," said Skye again. "I have a weird way of communicating with people. Obviously. I think it's probably because I have BPD."

"I thought you said you had ADHD," said Via, even though she really wasn't interested in having this conversation.

"I do. BPD is Borderline Personality Disorder. It might also have to do with the Tourette's though. I also have Cataplexic attacks and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and IBS – which is Irritable Bowel Syndrome, by the way, but I doubt that has anything to do with how I communicate. Or you know, don't communicate."

 _And Special Snowflake Syndrome_ , Via thought bitterly, but then chastised herself. That was mean. Skye couldn't help having a hodgepodge of disorders. "I'm sorry," was all Via could think to say.

"You REALLY need to stop apologizing. It's not your fault."

"No, of course it's not my fault," said Via. "That's just something people say. People say it to me about Auggie all the time. Like 'I'm sorry your brother has health issues.' And probably to Auggie all the time, too. Like 'I'm sorry your face looks like that.' You're right," she conceded, "that is kind of a shitty thing to say. I'm sorry."

Skye laughed and Via turned bright red.

"Sorry," she almost said again, but bit down hard on her lip.

"So, see you tomorrow?" Skye asked, "assuming you still want to be in Drama Club?"

"Of course," said Via. "I'm trying out for the lead this year."

"Oh, cool beans."

Via couldn't help smiling. It was something Auggie's friend Summer always said. Skye was nothing like Summer, but the words were still calming in a way.


	4. The Blake Chapter

Chapter Four: The Blake Chapter:

Miranda stared at Blake as he methodically made his way through his sesame chicken. She knew it was rude, but she couldn't help it. It was fascinating, actually – gross, but fascinating. He slowly lifted his fork to his mouth and stared as if he had no idea what it could possibly be and what he was supposed to do with it. Then, he inched his mouth open and inserted the fork and chewed, his mandibles working up and down, a grimace on his face as if he was chomping metal instead of chicken. His jaws moved once, then he waited. Twice, then again.

Miranda had already polished off her entire container of mushu pork and she could feel it sitting like a stone in her belly even though she was still hungry, and she noticed the twinges of an MSG headache forming behind her eyes. Blake's teeth scraped against his metal fork and Miranda felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She glanced down at her iPhone. 5:32. Today had been, at best, below average. She could barely concentrate at school worrying that Lisa was about to fall into another deep chasm, the first major funk since meeting Clyde, supposedly the one person in her life that made her happy.

And then, of course, there had been the argument with Via at play practice – or maybe an argument wasn't the right word as it had really just amounted to Via snapping at Miranda in front of the entire club. Miranda still wasn't sure what she had done wrong. She knew how sensitive Via was about being viewed as Auggie's sister first and herself second. That Skye person hadn't known that, but her response was still such a nothing thing to say – not "nothing" as in it didn't matter, but "nothing" as in it was something that nobody with even the slightest idea about how human beings worked would ever think to do. So why was Via snapping at Miranda when Miranda was taking her side? If Miranda had been a good friend, she would have gone after Via at the end of Drama Club to make sure everything was okay, but apparently, she kind of sucked that way.

The silence was stifling. It made her skin crawl and her teeth hurt. "So," Miranda said while Blake stabbed at a piece of broccoli, "Chinese food, huh?" As if they hadn't been eating it for fifteen minutes already.

Blake chewed two more times and then swallowed. "Yeah. What about it?"

"Nothing," said Miranda. She sighed and tapped her fingers against the table. "We used to have Chinese food all the time at the Pullmans house. That's my best friend, Via's family. I'm sure I've said that before. But, like every time we got take-out it would give Nate – that's Via and Auggie's dad – like the worst gas humanly possible, so now Isabel makes her own. I kind of like this better."

Blake wrinkled his nose. "ULK! Seriously? That's disgusting. Why would you bring that up at dinner?"

"I was just trying to make conversation," said Miranda.

"Well, I'm trying to eat," Blake mumbled.

Miranda couldn't help smirking. "Yeah, key word: 'trying. What, do you not like Chinese food or something?" Judging by his tortured look, she guessed not. Then again, he wore the same constipated expression when they were eating bun-less hamburgers and mashed potatoes, too, so maybe it was just food in general he wasn't into. Not that she was ever in to any of Clyde's bland, over-cooked hodgepodge dinners, either. Since when did hamburgers go with mashed potatoes? Or peas for that matter? Or frozen corn? Or hardboiled eggs?

He shrugged. "It's okay. I'm just not super hungry."

"Ah," she said. "I get it. You're one of those eat-to-live not live-to eat kinds of people."

Blake looked up, surprised. "Yeah, exactly. And it seems like you're more live-to-eat."

Miranda flushed. She wasn't sure why she was offended – after all, she had just teased him of being picky; why shouldn't he tease back her about the opposite? "If you think about it," she said, "isn't it kind of weird how important food is to people? Or, like, that we have to eat food for energy at all?"

He stared at her for a few seconds and she worried he didn't agree. That he would roll his eyes or say she was weird. Or worse yet, ignore her completely like the Clydesdale usually did at dinner when he wasn't criticizing her. "Yeah, I guess it kind of is, when you think about it."

"Yeah! Total wytai!" Miranda shouted, louder and more excitedly than she had intended.

"Wytai?"

"Yeah," said Miranda, "When you think about it."

"OH!" said Blake after a moment and a tiny smile jumped to his lips. "That's pretty good. Did you make that up?"

"Um, yeah," Miranda lied. For some reason, for as long as she could remember, she just did that: lied for absolutely no reason – sometimes about little things, like telling her mom they had fish sticks for school lunch when they really had chicken patties and sometimes something bigger, like when she said she wrote the song "Oranges and Lemons" for her piano recital when really it was a traditional folk song. Of course, nothing compared to the worst and stupidest, but decidedly not pointless lie she had ever told: that Auggie was her little brother, Nate and Isabel were her parents and both Lisa and Via were erased from existence. She still felt a little sick to her stomach whenever she thought about it.

They were quiet again, but this time, it seemed companionable instead of awkward. "I wonder what my mom and the Clydesdale are talking about," Miranda said. "Probably about whether I'm taking correct portion sizes."

"Clydesdale?"

"Oh," Miranda stammered, her face heating up. "That's kind of what I call your dad. Usually just in my head."

To her surprise, Blake started laughing. He had a nice laugh, she realized, loud and tinny with a sharp edge. "That's good. A total workhorse. That's him. What do you call your mom behind her back?"

Miranda was a bit stung that Blake assumed she made fun of Lisa behind her back (even though she, of course, did), but Blake was smiling now, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "Lisa with no interests," she said. "Because she, you know, has no interests."

He looked at her with a blank expression and for a moment she was worried he was going to chastise her. "Really?" he finally said, "You mean she's not interested in anything?"

"Well, I mean, I guess she's interested in your dad, obviously, but other than that…I mean, she never really had any hobbies and she doesn't really like her job and I know this sounds so mean, but she doesn't really have any friends, either."

Blake took a loud sip of his drink through his straw, sounding uncannily like his father.

"She can't help it, though," Miranda said. She looked down, so she couldn't see his facial expression – whether it was one of pity because her mother clearly had no interest in her or one of disapproval because she was judging Lisa too harshly. "She has Depression. She's pretty much always in a funk."

Blake wiped his mouth and remained quiet. Miranda could feel tears welling up in her eyes, so she furiously blinked them away. "Can you imagine going to a job you aren't even interested in eight hours a day, five days a week?" Blake asked.

"No," Miranda admitted.

"Me either," said Blake. "Sounds like actual Hell."

After dinner, Blake and Miranda looked through Lisa's alcohol stash and found a bottle of Vodka. Surprisingly, it had been Blake's idea. "But promise you won't tell anyone and that you won't go anywhere and that you'll stop if you start to feel sick," he said.

"Of course!" Miranda insisted. "C'mon, I do this all the time. I'm not a total loser." This was, actually, only partly a lie. She had gone to parties Freshman year but had tapered off since she and Via started hanging out again and really, she didn't miss drinking that much.

They put _Stranger Things_ on Netflix (which Blake kept referring to as _Strange Things,_ because, apparently, he had somehow never heard of it) and sipped straight from the bottle.

Vodka was nothing like the weak beer she usually had at parties and even less like the pink liquor she and her cabin mates drank at summer camp that tasted of cranberry cocktail and pink lemonade. She took a gulp of Vodka and it burned the inside of her nose and made her eyes water, but also spread warmth through her chest and up to her cheeks.

One more sip and her head started to spin. With her fellow campers, drunkenness had been pleasant – it made everything funnier and the universe feel safe and inviting, like nothing really bad could ever happen to anyone and like the world was ready to open itself up to her because she was someone who was charming and exciting and who mattered. But now, she felt the opposite, like something dark and cold had lodged in her ribcage, seeping into her lungs and everything felt heavy: her eyelids curtains, her arms and legs boulders, her tongue a slab of meat. She wondered for a second if she was always going to feel this way. If maybe it was what Lisa felt during her episodes. Or maybe what Lisa felt all the time.

"Um," Miranda said, surprised her tongue and vocal chords still worked. "Could I get some water?"

"Oh, sure. Good idea," said Blake. "Don't want to be too hungover tomorrow morning. You doing okay, though? Not too much for you?" He grabbed the bottle and took a swig. "We should probably stop anyway. Your mom's bound to notice eventually."

"She doesn't really notice…um…stuff," Miranda said.

"So, not to be nosy or anything, but what happened to your dad, anyway?" Blake asked apropos to absolutely nothing.

"Oh, him," said Miranda. "Clyde never mentioned him? Yeah, he got sick of her and traded up for someone who actually knows how to be fun. I mean, she's pretty much my mom if my mom was a real person or like had even the slightest hint of a personality. Like, her name's even Alicia, which is basically Lisa, but less fugly and old-fashioned. Was your Clydesdale always like your dad? I mean-"

Blake snorted. "You're drunk, huh?"

"No."

"This was a bad idea," he said. "I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to even suggest it."

"No, I'm fine!" Miranda insisted, her voice close to tears. "Really!"

"Okay," said Blake, looking incredulous. "And to answer your question, no. He was really happy before my mom died."

For some reason, this is like an icepick in her stomach. "Died? M-my mom didn't mention. I'm really sorry! What happened?"

"It's okay. I mean, yeah, it was hard, but it was a long time ago," said Blake. "It was a suicide actually. She, um, over-dosed on antidepressants."

"F***," was all Miranda could think to say. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too," said Blake and it took Miranda a second to realize he was sorry about his mother. "I never even knew she was depressed. She wasn't like your mom. She had friends, interests. She seemed happy, you know? She was like one of those Super Moms."

Miranda sniffled and tears leaked out the corners of her eyes.

"Shit," said Blake. "I don't know why I'm even telling _you_ of all people." He stood up and returned seconds later with a large glass of water. "Here," he said. "Drink this and then just…Just go to bed."

Miranda took a small sip and it tasted sour. Why? It was the same faucet and the same filter they always used. What was wrong with her? She knew Blake was right, of course. She should drink it and go to sleep or she would wake up with a nasty hangover, maybe even worse than at summer camp, which had felt like cotton in her mouth and throat but a pickaxe in her skull. Aspirin hadn't helped and that stupid Mimosa had made it worse, so that she was too nauseous to eat anything all day, and by evening, her body pleaded for sustenance and she had fainted from hunger. She had been nervous that the camp nurse would turn her in for drinking and that all of her new friends would get in trouble, but the nurse had just laughed and smiled knowingly. "Don't worry," she had said. "I know how these camps work when you're a teenager. Your secret's safe with me." By the end of the week, she had gotten much better at drinking, but she could never quite forget the humiliation of that first experience.

"I actually don't know if my mom was always like how she is now," Miranda said, gazing down at the still water. "I mean, I guess I'm never really here anyway."

"Okay," said Blake. "I thought you were going to bed."

"I will, I promise," Miranda said quietly. "But, I don't know. You were so honest with me just now…Whenever she was sad, I would just go over to Via's house. Actually, I was just always over there anyway. They're my real family. I mean, kind of anyway. Not literally."

"No, they aren't," Blake said and suddenly there was a sharp edge to his voice. "She's your family. And did you ever think for just a second that part of the reason she's so sad all the time is because you pretty much disowned her?"

"What?" Miranda asked, even though she had definitely heard the question.

Blake slammed down the Vodka bottle. "That family doesn't need you," he snarled. "Don't you get it? SHE needs you. You're literally all she has right now. Just leave that family alone!"

"What?" Miranda asked again stupidly.

"You heard me. Leave. That. Family. Alone."

What the hell was he even talking about? How dare he make such assumptions about the Pullmans and her relationship with them without even knowing them? She stood up and the room spun, so she put her hand on the back of the couch to steady herself. "Get out of here! Just leave, okay? You don't know what you're talking about!"

Blake rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Whatever. Be mad. You just don't like it that I'm probably right. But I'm not leaving. I'm not letting a drunk off-her-ass fourteen-year-old stay here alone."

"Um," Miranda snapped, "I'm fifteen for your information!" This sounded immature, she realized later and would have probably have been more fitting for a ten-year-old to say. "And I stay here by myself all the time, thank you very much! You don't need to take care of me! Please just leave!"

Blake slammed the door shut on his way out.


	5. The Addy Chapter

Chapter Five: The Addy Chapter:

Via knew she probably wasn't going to get a high grade on her first AP Bio test, but she still felt a jolt run up and down her spine when the test returned to her with a sloppily written D- on the top of the page. She blinked, sure her eyes were deceiving her and pinched her thigh under the desk to assure herself this wasn't an awful dream. She didn't get D's. Hell, she pretty much never got C's. Maybe a few B-s now and then, but those were never on anything important.

As the teacher's voice droned on (there would be four more exams before the final and they would be allowed to drop their lowest grades at the end), Via wondered why she didn't feel like crying. Instead, she felt achingly tired and numb and, also, sort of like she might faint, but that could have been because she had gotten approximately three hours of sleep the night before.

"Miss Pullman," Mr. Dearborn said as the class headed out the door, "you'll do better next time! If you need any help, please don't hesitate to come in at lunch or after school." He smiled kindly, hands behind his back because unlike the other AP teachers, Mr. Dearborn was a kind person – young, unassuming, maybe even a little bit shy. Via liked him, but she wasn't sure when she could possibly make time to get extra help.

"Thanks, I will," she heard herself say, almost robotically.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," Mr. Dearborn said, and Via wondered if he was concerned. His voice didn't sound concerned, but his eyebrows were raised. What if he and the other teachers had met to talk about her lack of progress? _They wouldn't_ , Via reminded herself. _I'm nobody special_.

Via forced herself to smile and it made her jaws twinge. "Thanks," she said in a voice that was much too happy, "I will!"

"So, see you at Wendy's?" Miranda asked at lunch.

Via sighed and slunk down against the wall outside of the cafeteria. "I can't," she said, "I have to study."

Miranda rolled her eyes in a way that Via found irritating even if it was meant to be good-natured. "Again? You're no fun!"

Via felt stung, even though Miranda was smiling. It didn't help that Auggie had said the same exact words (albeit in a serious tone and wearing a scowl) the night before when Via had been too busy to trade Pokémon with him. And she did have to admit, she hadn't been paying much attention to Auggie lately and she did feel bad about it. On the other hand, though, the world didn't revolve around Auggie – or at least, her life didn't. If it had, she could just write the damn college essay about life with a disabled brother that Mrs. Rockwell had suggested and drop every AP class except Psych, which she was getting an A in.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry I actually care about my work and getting into good colleges," Via snapped.

"Okay, sorry, _my bad_ ," said Miranda, not sounding particularly sorry so much as annoyed. "I guess Justin and I can just go without you."

Justin nodded. "You want us to bring you anything?" he asked.

For some reason, it hadn't really occurred to Via that her best friend and her boyfriend could just do that – she had always thought they only interacted through her, especially since just last year, Justin had been convinced that Miranda was a bitch of the highest order. But lately, Via supposed, she hadn't been much for conversation as she was always rushing to finish her homework, so Miranda and Justin (and Skye, who had been sitting at their table for the past week) had to entertain each other. Of course, while Via knew nothing was ever going to happen between Miranda and Justin – perhaps she didn't fully trust Miranda as much as she used to after freshman year, but Miranda would never betray Girl Code – she still didn't like the idea of being left out.

"B-but," she stammered, "Wendy's is our thing! As a trio!"

"I think other people go to Wendy's," Justin said lightly. "We don't own the place!"

"Yeah, I know!" Via snapped, anger suddenly threatening to choke her. "But I wish you wouldn't go without me!" She could hear how whiny and immature and also ridiculous her argument sounded. After all, it was just a dumb fast food restaurant and their salads were nowhere near as good as McDonalds.

"Then come with us," Miranda said. Via glared at her, teeth clenched. Miranda sounded completely sincere, like she was practically begging. "Chillax for a second! We never get to hang out with you anymore. I mean, we see you every day, but you're always, you know, not really _there_. We miss you. Don't we, Justin?"

"Yes," said Justin vehemently.

"I can't go!" Via snapped, blood sizzling in her arteries. She wasn't sure what made her angriest – that they somehow couldn't understand just how difficult her work load was and that she wasn't doing homework at lunch so she could veg out and eat Cheez-Ballz on the couch after school, but because she had literally worked on finishing a paper for AP English all night and hadn't had time to complete her math assignment; or that Miranda dared to play the Missing You Card after ignoring Via all of last year; or that Miranda and Justin had obviously discussed her supposed anti-social behavior and what to do about it and concluded that she just needed to loosen up. "For your information, I effing failed by effing Bio exam, so, no, Miranda, I can't "chillax" for a second!" Tears leapt to her eyes and she felt like a raw, exposed nerve, her heart pounding against her ribcage. "I'm sorry," she said after a bit. "I didn't…I didn't mean to yell."

"You really failed a test?" Miranda asked after a beat. "Oh my God. Are you okay?"

Via bit her lower lip and nodded. She didn't feel like mentioning that, technically speaking, a D- was a passing grade. "I'm fine," she said.

"Via," said Justin quietly, not looking at her, "what exactly do you want? I mean, you don't want to be excluded from Wendy's, but you don't want to go, either. Which is it?"

"Justin," said Miranda, lightly touching his arm, which makes Via cringe involuntarily. "Let's just leave her alone, okay?"

After they were gone, Via leaned her head back against the wall and wasted time feeling like a shitty friend instead of doing her math problems. She closed her eyes for a second and listened to the roar of student laughter, gossip and chewing.

"Hey! Via!" Something smacked her hard between the eyes and she looked up to see Skye, grinning and holding a rolled-up magazine.

"Ow," Via whined.

"Sorry," said Skye, "just wanted to make sure you were still, you know, alive."

"Barely," Via mumbled without thinking.

Skye's face turned serious and she slid down the wall next to Via. "You okay?"

Suddenly, the dam broke in her throat and tears gushed down her face as she told Skye everything.

"Aw, Via," Skye said, awkwardly placing a hand on Via's back. "Shit. I had no idea things were that bad. Hey." Skye looked around quickly and then her voice dropped to a whisper. "Look total kudos to you for doing all that shit on your own, but if you ever want any, you know, help…"

Via looked up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you could totally borrow some of my Adderall. I wouldn't do this for just anyone, but you seem legit, so…"

"Are you kidding?" Via asked. "NO! I don't…I don't need DRUGS. I don't even have ADD. Obviously."

Skye rolled her eyes. "Dude, you don't need to have ADD to take Addy."

"Yeah, well, I don't."

Skye shrugged. "Okay. Suit yourself."

After school, Via's head was pounding, as she trudged to the bus stop. She didn't have drama club tonight (thank God for small favors) as auditions for the Spring play weren't until early October, but she needed to practice, plus finish her math homework and re-study everything from the Bio exam even though her whole body screamed out for a nap. How the hell, she wondered, was she supposed to make it through the semester, especially since getting the role of Miranda in _The Tempest_ was such a big part of her college application plans? Just the thought made her want to curl up on the sidewalk and sob. Instead, she got out her iPhone and punched in a text to Skye.

Via's heart bounced and rattled in her chest as she approached the playground after dinner. She and Miranda used to spend hours playing on the merry-go-round and see-saw when they were younger, but in the chilled September twilight, the playground looks sinister, intimidating, as if the swings and jungle gym are ready to come alive and jump out at her.

"Yo!" shouted Skye, waving a Gatorade bottle in the air. "Kind of thought you were going to chicken out."

 _I still might_ , Via thought to herself.

Skye shook a pill bottle into her palm and held her hand out to Via. Adderall was small, round and white, like a coated Baby Aspirin.

"What's it going to feel like?" she asked.

Skye shrugged. "It's different for everyone," she said. "But you'll probably feel a little sharper and more awake."

Via screwed her eyes shut and popped the tiny pill in her mouth, her heart speeding up just feeling it press against her tongue. She took a swallow of Skye's Gatorade, forgetting to even worry about common cold germs. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then, her muscles from her temples to her calves tightened and her throat closed. A hummingbird fluttered in her chest; a cell phone vibrated behind her sinuses.

"I-I don't feel so good," she stammered, trying to take a breath. Her vision started to tunnel. "I don't like this!"

Skye knelt down in front of her, placed both hands on her knees. "Via! Hey! Look at me, okay? You're going to be fine. You're just having a panic attack or something."

"I should have never listened to you!" Via panted.

Skye shook her head. "It's not the Adderall," she said calmly. "Look, why don't you go home and take it easy."

In her room, after mumbling a probably unconvincing, "I'm going to go do my homework," to her parents, Via stared at the ceiling until her heart finally began to slow and at the same moment, her mind became clear as if a veil was lifted. Everything in the room felt sharper, more detailed. She took out her math book and finished that day's work, her mind racing from problem to problem. And then, as it was only 8:45, she moved onto Biology, which she suddenly understood with perfect clarity.


End file.
